


Bloodlines

by CookieDoughMe



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Alternating, tagged non-con for depiction of non-con knife/blood play, there is also reference to rape and murder not depicted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 11:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20134561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieDoughMe/pseuds/CookieDoughMe
Summary: This looks at one possibility for how the relationship between Jordan and Wade might have gone, if it had lasted a little longer. Diverges from canon towards the end of episode 4.06 - Countdown. This is pretty angsty, but things do end up better for Jordan here than they did in canon.This is tagged non-con not for the sex itself but for a related minor act of violence. If anyone would like more detail before reading, feel free to send me a question - my tumblr and Twitter links are in my profile, or you could ask in a comment here.





	1. Duke

**Author's Note:**

> This starts at the point in _Countdown_ that Duke leaves the electronics store, chasing after Wade who has just stabbed the shopkeeper Paul and discovered what the Crocker Curse feels like.

Fucking _ , fucking  _ **fuck** _ . _ "Wade!" I call out. This is bad, this is very, very bad. Where did he go? "WADE! I need to talk to you."  _ Shit this is all my fault _ .

I run down the street, but Wade is already out of sight. I keep walking anyway, trying to think where he would go. I should have made him leave town, kicked him out of the Gull, gotten him threatened with arrest for something (hell, it's not like I don't know a cop that owes me a favour or five thousand) or… I don't know, something. "Wade!" I keep walking, no idea where I’m going, looking in shop windows just in case. I pull out my phone to call him with no real expectation of an answer. It rings for a long time and I come this close to throwing the phone across the street in frustration. I suppose I could try calling Jordan but there’s even less reason to think she would take a call from me.

This is all my fault. Or possibly, partly Jordan's fault. That  _ fucking _ woman. I should have shot her, properly, when I had the chance. Whatever she's told Wade it won't be the truth, not all of it anyway. He wasn't here that much in the '80s, he didn't see what Dad was like, he doesn't know this town, he doesn't know _ …  _ "Damnit!" I guess that came out a little more loudly than I meant, the woman walking towards me looks startled. I put on my best smile, "I'm sorry ma'am," and she walks on. Wade doesn't know any of it, the danger he's in from the Guard, what this could turn him into, why I didn't tell him in the first place. "Goddamnit Jordan," I manage to mutter under my breath this time. That  _ fucking woman. _


	2. Jordan

“How do I end all the Troubles?” Wade asks, so earnest.

"I was wrong," I tell him. It's not easy to say, but I need to be clear. "I don’t think you can. My plan wouldn’t have worked, it was a mistake. But, you could end mine," I offer hopefully. He looks interested enough, so I explain. "The Crocker Trouble, it means that if you kill a Troubled person (and get their blood on your skin while you're doing it) then you kill their Trouble. Any family members they have - their Trouble goes." He looks distracted, playing with the glove in his hands, but I carry on, adding more specifics. "My father, I never knew him. I found him a few years ago and what I found out about him made me realise I didn't want to get to know him at all. From what little my mom told me before she passed away, from what the Guard found out about his police record. He's not a nice man Wade, you'd be doing the world a favour to get rid of him. If you kill him, and get his blood on your skin, you'll kill my Trouble too." He looks up at me then; that got his attention. 

"And then we could be together?" he asks.

I look back at him.  _ Would I have looked twice at him if it weren't for the Troubles? If he weren't a Crocker? Probably not, _ I admit to myself. But he's not bad looking and he's got a kind of eager edge about him that could be fun. He will at least have some awareness of the significance to me of being able to touch.

"And then we could be together," I agree.


	3. Wade

The rush when that Troubled blood hit my skin was like every good feeling I've ever had, all multiplied together. Molten lava boiling in my veins that made me feel strong, powerful, invincible. For a while it did anyway; it faded too quickly. And now, Jordan is sat in the passenger seat beside me, full of Troubled blood. I think about taking the knife from my jacket and slamming it into her chest, feeling her blood run over my hand, the rush as it soaks into my skin. But she's saying something about another plan she has; a plan not to end the Troubles for everyone, but for her at least. Well, that would be something. I could touch her then. There is other Troubled blood out there afterall. "OK," I agree. I leave the knife where it is. "So what's the plan?" I say, asking for specifics. I know she wants me to kill her father, but I don't even know who he is, where he is.

She looks at the time. "It's a good few hours drive. If we leave now we'll be there around midnight. Maybe we'll get a hotel room …" she pauses at that word, with a meaningful glance at me and then a longing one at the black rubber glove in my hand. I smile and when she sees I've got her meaning, she carries on with her sentence, "... for the night, look him up in the morning. I know where he was a few years ago but we're not in contact. He might have moved on," she admits. 

"That's OK," I figure. "Gets us out of town for a while, anyway."

"Exactly," she agrees.

We start driving and she tells me what she learned about the man who fathered her; in and out of jail his whole life for all kinds of stuff, accused of more - worse - crimes that the police never made stick, the things he did to her mother. By the time we pull into town, I'm convinced this is a good idea, in a way that I hadn't been before. I realise she might be exaggerating for my benefit, but if even half of what she's saying is true then she's right when she says the world will be better off without him.

We find a decent enough hotel with a kingsize bed and a view of the night sky. We stopped a couple times on the way, got some food, some beers that now sit forgotten on the chair by the window, and some more gloves. I throw one pair onto the bed, pull the other over my hands. They are a nice tight fit, black to match Jordan's theme. I can't wait to see them pressed to her pale white skin. She's so controlled most of the time, so … harsh. The thought that I might get to see a different side to her, even if I do have to wear gloves to do it, that's almost a rush all it's own.

She watches me pull the rubber tight over my fingers, step up to her and rest my hand at her jaw. I run my fingers down her neck and find the buttons of her top, reminding myself not to try and kiss her. There are no gloves for that. Once the buttons are undone I pull the fabric apart a little, push my hands against her bra and squeeze, slowly. Her eyes flutter closed and there is a soft little moan from her throat. I know it's not really enough, but the skin-to-skin contact will have to wait. And this is fun in the meantime. 

She moves us closer to the bed so she can swap the nice leather gloves she usually wears for a rubber pair to match mine. I push the shirt from her shoulders and look at her standing there, beautiful in her bra. I want to spin her round onto the bed, but if we lie together our skin will touch. There is so much here I can't do. I do something I can, reach forward for the zipper on her skirt. Once it's off and she stands there in her underwear, she reaches for my clothes too, undoing buttons and zippers until I'm wearing nothing but underwear either. 

She presses a gloved hand to my chest and I remind myself again that I can touch her with nothing but my hands, that she can touch me with nothing but hers. I press my palms against her breasts, then slip the straps from her shoulders and reach behind to undo the clasp. It's awkward with the gloves on and if I'm honest I'm out of practice. I'm distracted too by her hands running up and down my back, but I get it done eventually. I step back and she lets it fall to the floor. My eyes are on her naked chest - she gets more and more beautiful the more I see of her. She is looking at my underwear, suddenly a much tighter fit. I think about a condom but of course it wouldn't work; our skin would still touch.  _ Next time, _ I tell myself,  _ Once I've fixed her Trouble. _

I reach for her breasts again, heavy in my hands. I press and squeeze and stroke and pinch and her eyes fall closed as her head falls back and she leans against the bed at her side. Much as I would rather be able to do this with my own skin I was right; the black gloves look stunning against her pale complexion. She rests one hand on the bed, grips my arm with the other as though holding herself up. I wasn't expecting this to have quite that much affect on her, but I guess it's been a while. I press one hand close to a breast and trail the other one down her stomach and into her underwear. She gasps but it's difficult with the gloves, I can't feel what I'm doing like I want to, I can't even feel how wet she is.

"Hang on," I say, taking my hands from her to put them on her arms and turn her around 90 degrees so her ass is against the bed. The bed is tall and it's high enough that she is almost standing as she half-sits on the edge of the mattress. She gets my intention and pulls off her underwear, settles against the bed again, then puts her hands behind her and leans back and I swear in that moment I have never seen anything so beautiful in my whole damn life. I go to my knees, thinking about what it will be like when I can taste her, press my lips to hers, but contenting myself for now with pushing my gloved fingers against her.

It is easier when I can see a little of what I'm doing. She's wet enough I think that I can easily slip a finger inside and when I do, she moans with pleasure. I pull out, try two fingers, then three, and she moans a ilttle louder each time, her hands scrunched in the sheets. I move one hand slowly up and down as the fingers of the other search out her clit. It's been a long time since I spent the night with a new woman; I try to forget old habits, to study her reaction, and eventually  _ there _ . I see, hear, the fact that I've found where she needs to be touched, but she tells me too;  _ Just there, that feels so good _ . 

Even through the gloves I can feel how wet she is now; my fingers sliding slick over her. She tells me what she likes and I play with different things too, different rhythms, different angles, different pressures. I'm not in any hurry to make her come but I want to make sure that I do; I'm obscurely aware that it must have been a long time since anyone has and I'm not sure why that turns me on so much but it does. This whole thing is a turn on perhaps, the danger of her skin, the thrill of what we have planned for tomorrow, the thought of curing her Trouble, of giving her that (of having her owe me that), the thought of that pleasure rush I will get from her father's Troubled blood. And suddenly it occurs to me that while I need to kill him to take her Trouble, while she still has it I only need a drop of her blood to feel something of that rush. And wouldn't that just be the perfect companion to this.

Her moans shift up in volume and she tells me to keep doing exactly what I am, and I have to suddenly force myself to pay more attention to my fingers. I guess it works because before too long she is shouting the house down, head thrown back, arms shaking, stomach muscles cramping and muscles pressing tight around my fingers too. She lets out one last long satisfied moan and flops backwards onto the bed.

I take my hands from her and bring a gloved finger to my mouth, standing so she can see me sucking it clean. I step closer, standing between her legs with only the barest minimum of space between her skin and mine. She could simply close her legs right now and I would be helpless in pain on the floor. The thought sends an only partly-unpleasant thrill through me, particularly when she warns me to be careful. She sits up and pushes me backwards with a gloved hand on my chest before looking down to my crotch, a faintly amused smile on her lips. 

"Take them off," she tells me and as I do she stands. "I'll be right back," she says, walking over to the bathroom. I take the opportunity to take the knife from my jacket and put it on the bed next to me. When she comes back she stands with me, leaning against the bed. Her eyes run over me and I guess she's happy enough with what she sees because she's reaching a gloved hand towards my erection when the knife catches her eye. "What," she says, voice cold, "Is that doing there?"

"It occurred to me," I begin, hesitantly, "Maybe just once, before I cure your Trouble. I would only need a drop or two of blood, just a tiny cut..." my voice fades away as I see the icy stare on her face.

"No," she says firmly, and I see there is no persuading her.

"OK," I say easily. "Sure, I'm sorry." I pick up the knife and make a show of putting it further on the bed behind me, even as I make sure it is still easy enough for me to reach. She's not fooled though, she takes a step backwards and reaches down to wrap her fingers around me and pull me gently forward by my cock. I go willingly, the gloves do not seem such an impediment from this side of things and she finds a pressure and a rhythm that soon has me holding on to the side of the bed for support as my knees threaten to buckle underneath me. Her other hand switches from my chest to my balls, and then stay there as she squeezes slowly and inexorably harder and firmer, the rhythm of her other hand faster too, until my shouts echo round the room, joining the memory of hers.

It was good, that was a fucking good orgasm but next to the memory of that blood rush it is pale. As she lets go of me I reach backwards, the knife just within reach. I guess she thinks I'm just leaning back on the bed like she did because she's not prepared for it as I dart forward with the knife and knick a cut on her upper arm. It's tiny; she'll be fine. But there is a drop or two of blood on the knife and as I wipe it clean with the palm of my hand that molten lava hits and mingles with the echoes of my orgasm and I actually fall to the floor with the feel of it; the pleasure too much for me to think about standing.

Jordan is stunned. She stands there looking down at me, then examines the cut on her arm. The rush quickly starts to fade. I don't have much evidence to go on yet, but I think the intensity and the duration vary with the amount of blood. I find myself wondering with excitement what it will be like when I take enough to kill a man.

She crouches down and looks me in the eyes. "I said,  _ No _ ," she tells me. It's a moment before I realise she's taken off the gloves. She puts both hands flat against my chest and the pain is excruciating. Luckily I only feel it for a moment before I pass out.

It must be mid-morning before I wake, stiff and cold and sore from having spent the night on the floor. She hadn't even thrown a blanket over me, but I guess I deserve that. I sit up and see her hanging up a phone call. "I'm sorry," I say. She doesn't speak and she doesn't turn to look at me. 

After a moment, as if I hadn't spoken, she says, "I checked out the dive bar he used to hang out in. Sounds like he still does. We'll go find him this afternoon, I'll show you who he is. You'll go back later with a knife and catch him as he's leaving."

"OK," I agree. "What are we doing until then?"

She still doesn't look at me. "I'm going out," she says and leaves me there naked on the floor as the door closes behind her.


	4. The Alley

The bar is a dive indeed and no one notices what time a drunk ex-con finally slips out the side door onto the side alley. It's dark and quiet there, and no one has noticed the man from Haven who has been standing in the shadows waiting for his quarry to appear. No one notices as Jordan's father stumbles in a drunken haze against the wall, and no one notices as Wade slips a knife between his ribs, twisting it as the Troubled man falls against him, Wade soaking the blood into his skin. No one but Wade notices as Jordan's father dies, and no one at all sees Wade's eyes change to Troubled silver, or his hand move back to the pool of blood to soak up more of it and keep that silver there for longer. No one notices as Wade finally steps out of the alley, ditches the knife and his blood-soaked jacket, and walks back across town to a hotel room and a woman who now owes him her ability to touch.


	5. Jordan

It's two months since the little road trip with Wade that changed my life and there is nothing keeping me in Haven now. For a while I thought we might make a good team, Wade and I. He held a huge grudge against Duke for not telling him about the Crocker Curse, and once the Guard realised what we'd done they had it out for both of us. Hypocrites the lot of them. Nathan and Audrey (and therefore Haven PD in general) had it out for both of us as well. It felt, briefly, like me and him against the town. But I should have known it wouldn't last. Just as I was interested in him for his Trouble, without mine his interest in me didn't last long. The Crocker men all have a darkness to them, I knew that. I didn't expect Wade to be the darkest of all.

The downside to my Trouble being gone, is that I’ve lost an effective weapon of self defence. It was my fault of course, all of it. Duke was trying to keep Wade away from the whole thing, but I told him about it, triggered his Trouble, gave him a taste for Troubled blood. I should have seen it coming, Vince even tried to warn me, but my eagerness to be rid of my Trouble left me careless.

So now, the apartment's empty, the bills are paid, my bags are packed and it's time to leave town, for good this time. Leave Haven and leave the Guard and the whole fucking mess behind. Whether Haven will be better or worse off without me, I’m not actually sure, but I know I can’t stay. There is just one thing I have to do before I can go. 

I've dressed carefully for the occasion; a fitted, high-necked top that reaches right down to my wrists, paired with high waisted jeans and knee-high boots. I don't wear the gloves any more but Haven has a long memory; if I want to look conciliatory I'm going to show as little skin as possible. 

Even so, when I walk up to the Cape Rouge, Duke Crocker does not look pleased to see me. I suppose he has a right. He must realise it's my fault his brother is such a mess right now. But that's why I'm here. I know he's knows it's bad, but I don't think he knows  _ how  _ bad. That's why I'm bearing his presence before I leave.


	6. Duke

I step out on deck and see an unwelcome visitor walking along the dock towards me. "What do you think you're doing here Jordan?" I ask, sounding at least as irritated as I feel by the sight of her. I haven't got time for this.

"Don't worry," she assures me, "I'm not staying long. I'm leaving town."

_ Finally, some good news _ , I think, though I'm surprised. Even with her Trouble gone I thought she'd stick around, just to see how it all played out. Just to see Nathan get his _ . _ She is a study in revenge, or I thought she was.

"But first I just had to …" She is standing on the dock and motions towards the steps, "May I?" 

I hesitate. I don't really want her on my boat. But without her Trouble she's not much threat, and that tight fitting outfit doesn't leave much room for concealed weaponry. I shift to the left a little where one of my stashed guns is in closer reach, then I nod. As she walks down the steps I see she's nervous, she doesn't want to be here either.  _ What's going on?  _

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," she begins, and this doesn't make me feel any less wary. "For Wade," she clarifies and I glare at her, shift myself to the left a little more. "I never intended …." She breaks off, realising perhaps that apologies don’t mean much at this point. "Someone has to stop him and no one else can," she says bluntly. 

I stare at her, doesn't she know I've been trying to sort my brother out for weeks? 

"He's …. he seeks out Troubled women," she says. There's a pause while I wait for her to finish her sentence. "To sleep with," she clarifies.

I start to get a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

She sees she has my attention and she carries on. "Willingly on their part or not, I don't think he cares, but that's not even the worst thing. He wants Troubled women specifically so that at the point he … at the moment of …" 

She becomes suddenly coy but evidently decides she doesn't need to spell out what she obviously means - at the moment of orgasm.

"... he cuts them, so he can get the high from their Troubled blood at the same time. Two different kinds of rush together. It's not …" She pauses, struggling again like there's something worse to add. 

_ What could be worse?  _ I wonder, unsure I want to know, but I have to hear her out now.

"I don't know how many he's killed, but he just takes what he wants. He's … he's become something worse than any other Crocker I've heard about, Duke." 

_ She calls me Duke when she wants my help _ , I notice. 

"He's worse than Simon," she tells me. 

_ At least there aren't any kids involved _ , I think, but what she's saying turns my stomach. "How do you know?" I bite out.

"It doesn't matter how I know. I know. Someone needs to stop him. I'm no threat to him without my Trouble, the Guard won't listen to me since I …." 

_ Since I used a Crocker for my own ends without telling them, _ she doesn't say.  _ Since I primed a Crocker and let him loose to kill Troubled people outside of the Guard's control. _

"Who else is there?" she asks. "Someone has to stop him, and you're the only one that can," she says with the tone of an argument she's rehearsed to herself too many times. "I'm sorry," she adds, and I think she might actually mean it.

She turns to walk away. "You could have gone to the cops," I point out. "Nathan would have listened."

She turns back to face me, arches a finely-shaped eyebrow in my direction and leaves.

She's right in that if what she says about Wade is true then he has to be stopped. I can't take her on her word though. Even if I am pretty sure I believe her intentions, she could be mistaken. I have to be sure before I do anything. 

It's later that day and I'm still trying to work out what to do, when I find the knife with its tip missing that tells me someone used my kitchenware as a murder weapon.  _ Fuck, this is all my fault. Or possibly Jordan's fault. I should have killed her when I had the chance. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're glad you did then any form of positive comment is always much appreciated.


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